PS 3525 
.03 A8 
1922 
Copy 1 



At the End of the Trail 

A STORY OF THE 
NEW JERSEY INDIANS 

BY 
MINNIE MAY MONKS 



WINBEAM 

WINBEAM LODGE :: WEST BROOK VALLEY, N. J. 



. <D 3 AS . 



©CI.A681322 

JUL 21 1922 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

Up in the northern part of New Jersey 
there is a little valley in the heart of the 
mountains, and where now stands an old 
farm-house, smoke once curled upward from 
a group of wigwams, the home of a small 
tribe of Indians. 

In an English settlement in the valley of 
the Passaic there lived, at this time, a young 
Englishman named Allen, and probably no 
white man had more friends among the In- 
dians than he. Tall, strong, well built, with 
a graceful swing to his shoulders as he 
walked, dressed in fringed buckskin, a deer- 
skin cap on his curly head, he was good to 
look at. Besides, there was a happy reck- 
lessness in his friendly manner, and a merry 
twinkle in the clear blue of his eye that never 
failed to please. From the time he could 
remember, love for the wilderness had pos- 
sessed him, and he was never so happy as 
when he followed the trails and made friends 
among the Indians. 

Early one clear, cool morning in middle 
May he filled his knapsack with food, slung 
it over his shoulder, picked up his fishing 

[5] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

fork and rifle, and started out for a hunting 
trip, stopping, as was his custom, for his 
friend Red Fox, an Indian brave who lived 
nearby. Finding that Red Fox had gone on 
a trapping expedition, he traveled on alone. 
From Totowa he followed a trail through 
Preakness to Pompton Plains, an old Indian 
village where several trails converged, one 
running south through Pequannock to Hobo- 
ken, another extending west to Lake Hopat- 
cong, and a number of short ones leading to 
various fishing places along the water 
courses. 

Allen chose a narrow trail running north, 
a trail new and unexplored to him. Here 
and there, as he crossed the plains, he passed 
a low-roofed stone house built by some 
sturdy Dutch settler, but the farther north 
he traveled the wilder and more beautiful 
the way, and now he came to Yapewi Trail 
along the river valley of the Wanaque, and 
here was promise of good game, for, as he 
rounded a sharp bend in the river, he caught 
a glimpse of a red deer browsing by the 
water's edge. 

"This is luck," he thought, as he stepped 

forward cautiously; but as he moved a dry 

twig cracked sharply under his foot. At the 

sound a big buck deer suddenly faced 

[6] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

around, then with a wide leap plunged into 
the thicket, with the whole herd following 
close on his heels; they crashed through the 
underbrush and were gone before Allen could 
swing his rifle to his shoulder. 

Somewhat chagrined, he strode on with 
eyes and ears keenly alert, but out of all the 
wood noises not once did his practiced sense 
distinguish the sharp, dainty tread of a deer. 
As he followed the trail he came to a huge 
gray rock rising from the water. It was 
gently sloping on the top and there had been 
a fire built there recently. From the signs, 
he knew it was the Council Rock of some 
Indian tribe. As he walked out to its edge 
he saw an Indian in a canoe fast disappear- 
ing down the river. 

Presently he came to a turn in the trail, 
where a mountain brook joined its waters 
with those of the larger stream. Here he 
turned and followed the brook west, plunging 
into a rough and mountainous region. Once 
he shot off his rifle, and as the sharp report 
echoed from the surrounding mountain 
walls there was a flurry of wings above 
him, and small game scurried across his 
path in all directions; but no deer appeared. 
Once he thought he spied a fawn in the deep 
shadows of the forest, and he crawled up 

[7] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

stealthily — to find it was only a bare, brown 
rock flecked with sunlight. 

"Fooled again!" he exclaimed, as he 
turned aside to skirt the bank of the stream, 
which now flowed through a forest of ever- 
green, their branches so closely interlocked 
that they shut out the sunlight. He stood 
for a moment, drinking in the spirit and 
breath of the greenwood, and listening to the 
songs of nesting birds, then sauntered along 
the trail until he saw bright sunlight ahead 
and made his way to a natural clearing on 
the mountain slope. Through an opening 
between tall oak and hickory trees he looked 
down upon a little valley of sunny meadows. 
To the west, north, east, and south moun- 
tains and wooded hills girdled the little 
emerald valley, and through it a wide brook 
sparkled silver in and out of overhanging 
alders. Close by the brook delicate spirals 
of smoke floated upward from a group of 
small teepees. Back of him a wooded bank 
rose sharply, where the white blossoms of 
dogwood shone among a group of cedar and 
hemlock trees. The sun was high in the 
heavens, shining with bright warmth, and 
the cool shade of the evergreens and beauty 
of the dogwood looked inviting. 

"A pleasant spot to eat," thought Allen, 
as he opened his knapsack and spread his 

[8] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

food on a flat rock beneath which trickled a 
little spring brook. His appetite was like 
himself — big and hearty — and when he had 
finished there was but a slice of bread left. 
This he crumbled and scattered over the 
rocks below, for the birds and squirrels. 
Then he stretched himself on a patch of thick 
moss and rested there in lazy contentment. 
A soft south wind touched his face caress- 
ingly. Below sounded the low gurgle of 
running water. Above him a bluebird sang 
tender notes, and with every breath he 
sensed the fresh woodsy odors of May time. 

Gradually the blissful, carefree conscious- 
ness of the wood life gave way to an ex- 
quisite stupor, and he fell into restful, dream- 
less sleep, while the sun crept slowly west- 
ward till it sank behind the mountains, and 
the shadows lengthened into twilight. Then 
the furry and feathered night-people of the 
forest came out, and the wood was filled 
with the sound of their soft journeyings. 
The full, bright moon rode up over the 
mountains from the east, flooding the valley 
with its wonderful light. 

From his peaceful slumber the young 
hunter was roused sharply, suddenly con- 
scious that some noise had awakened him. 
In the tree overhead a screech-owl rendered 

[9] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

a melancholy dirge to the night; but it was 
not this sound that had awakened him, Allen 
thought, as he lay blinking drowsily; nor 
was it the hungry howl of wolves up the 
mountain. Presently it came again — the 
sound of voices, the low guttural tones of 
Indians. Allen sniffed the air; he scented 
sassafras and green birch smoke. 

'There's an Indian campfire hereabouts," 
he thought. He listened again, then crept 
cautiously toward the edge of the steep bank. 
Below he saw a fire burning, and the light 
from the blazing embers revealed dim figures 
squatting in a circle. As he leaned forward 
to get a better look, an old tree stump gave 
way where his shoulder rested, and he was 
hurled downward, amidst stones and loos- 
ened earth. He felt a stinging blow on his 
head, a violent wrench of his body and arm 
as he crashed to the ground. He saw a tall 
form bend over him, heard the murmur of 
voices, and then he knew no more. 

When he opened his eyes he found him- 
self lying on a pile of skins in an Indian 
wigwam. An Indian woman was bending 
over him, pouring oil into a great gash on 
his arm. Through his dulled senses the 
smell of burning cedar-wood reached him, 
and through the opening of the wigwam he 

[10] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

saw the red glow of a fire, beside which 
stood a tall Indian girl, stirring something 
in a pot from which a light cloud of steam 
floated upward. Far ofT he heard a whip- 
poorwill calling. Was it a dream? Allen 
thought. Now a dark form at the opening 
of the wigwam shut out the sight of the fire, 
and he looked up to see a tall, dignified old 
Indian chief, who walked straight to where 
he lay and eyed him with a glance so keenly 
penetrating that, for a moment, Allen was 
startled, till he reassured himself with the 
thought that Indians were always friendly 
to him. 

"I White Owl," said the Indian abruptly. 
"You from home of paleface ?" 

"I came from the English settlement," 
Allen answered, after pausing a moment to 
collect his thoughts. 

"You go to home of paleface no more," 
announced the chief. "You White Owl's 
prisoner," and the old man walked away as 
abruptly as he had come. 

Allen struggled to rouse himself, to mar- 
shal his thoughts. The Indians had always 
been his friends; but this tribe was new to 
him, and he wondered what they did with 
their prisoners. Then his thoughts trailed 
off into a confused mass of unanswerable 

[ix] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

questions, and he struggled with vague mem- 
ories. He tried to shake off the deadly stu- 
por that was possessing him, but his mind 
only became more hazy. There was a ring- 
ing in his ears, and his eyes were dim; then 
he lapsed into unconsciousness, and knew not 
how long he lay there helpless, nor how 
faithfully the Indians tended his wounds in 
their simple fashion. 

Allen awoke from his stupor one day to 
find the Indian girl watching by his side. 
When she saw that he was conscious she 
hastened away, returning with her father, 
White Owl. The old chief lifted Allen's in- 
jured arm, then let it drop heavily, lifted it 
again and let it drop; then he began to pinch 
the flesh. Not a sign of suffering showed 
on the face of the sick man. The old chief 
looked at the arm with great concern, then 
stalked out of the wigwam and into the 
forest. For three days Allen did not see 
him. Then the chief returned, bringing a 
peculiar brown burr. 

"Three days I hunt for this," he said, 
holding out the burr. Stooping down, he 
began pricking the arm with the burr, inch 
by inch, from the wrist upward, till the blood 
oozed from every pore. He had almost 
reached the shoulder, when suddenly the sick 

[12] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

man gave such a cry that the Indian girl 
sprang to his side. The old chief gave a 
grunt of satisfaction, threw the burr away, 
and without a word walked out of the wig- 
wam. Feeling had returned to the injured 
arm. At first the soreness of the raw flesh 
was almost unendurable, but gradually the 
pain subsided, and from that day Allen 
gained slowly in strength, beginning to real- 
ize how well these strangers were caring for 
him. The old chief insisted that he smoke 
the leaves of bearberries as a safeguard 
against fever, and, mixed with killikinick, 
he found the flavor and odor sweet and 
pleasant and a good substitute for tobacco. 
White Owl's squaw administered copious 
draughts of a drink which she brewed from 
herbs and roots that smelled better than 
they tasted. One day, when a steaming bowl 
of this concoction was brought to him, Allen 
made such a wry face that Wenonah, the 
chiefs daughter, nearly fell over him, gig- 
gling with glee. Stooping down, she stroked 
his hand, saying, "Man with eyes like the 
sky, this make you well!" 

"Yes, I should think it might," he an- 
swered, smiling at the girl's mirth. "I 
should think it would kill or cure any living 
thing on earth!" And surely something was 

[13] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

making him stronger — whether the herbs or 
the good care, he knew not. 

No further reference was made to Allen's 
being a prisoner, and whenever the strange- 
ness of his situation oppressed him he put 
the thoughts away, realizing that the Indians 
would offer no explanation till they chose to 
do so; that an attempt to escape would prob- 
ably be fatal for him ; and that, since he had 
no real need to return to the English settle- 
ment, he might content himself here. 

White Owl's lodge stood at a little distance 
from those of his tribe. His three wigwams 
were built upon a hill, among tall pines and 
hemlocks, and at the foot of the hill a clear 
mountain brook tumbled over the rocks in 
a series of waterfalls. On clear days Allen 
limped out to a sheltered spot at the foot of 
a pine tree, where Wenonah spread wolf- 
skins on the ground. Through an opening 
between the trees he could look down upon 
the little group of teepees, and beyond them 
the patches of ripening maize. 

Beyond the clearing Winbeam, the most 
beautiful of all the surrounding mountains, 
shut the rest of the world from view, giving 
the little valley a quiet seclusion, and making 
it a little world of its own. 

[14] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

Allen loved all the wild beauty, but had 
it not been for the companionship of Weno- 
nah, the young hunter would have been 
lonely. White Owl had little to say to him, 
the squaw not a word, and the men of the 
tribe avoided him. Only Wenonah was 
friendly. 

"Man with eyes like the sky," she said one 
day, "I give you a name. You wounded in 
our lodge since Moon of Green Leaves, I 
call you Teola." 

"Teola let it be," he laughed, much 
amused. As he grew stronger he encouraged 
the girl to talk, and was greatly entertained 
when she repeated old Indian legends, read 
him signs from the clouds, and imitated the 
calls of the wood creatures. Several times 
he was startled by the bark of a wolf behind 
him, until he learned to watch for the Indian 
girl to come stealing from behind a shelter- 
ing tree. She delighted in fooling him with 
these imitations of animals and birds. One 
day, hearing an owl hoot in a tree overhead, 
he looked up to see the girl's bright eyes 
laughing down at him from the branches 
above. Sometimes It was the whippoorwill 
call, a Bob White whistle, or the cooing of 
a wood dove. She imitated all nature sounds 
so cleverly that the white man marveled. 

[15] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

One day, while Allen lay under the great 
spreading branches of a pine tree, he noticed 
for the first time a painting in White Owl's 
wigwam. 

"What does it mean, Wenonah?" he asked, 
pointing to the picture of a wolf with one 
raised leg in which it carried a gun with the 
barrel pointed forward. 

"That Indian's Totem. White Owl belong 
to Wolf Clan," explained Wenonah, and told 
him the legend of how the wolf became the 
totem sign of the Minsies. Many other 
legends she repeated as she pointed to the 
figures on the wigwams. 

Sometimes Allen fell asleep while Weno- 
nah repeated legends and chanted Indian 
songs in her soft, low voice. When he awoke 
he would find her there still, watching by 
him, and soon he felt a real fellowship for 
the devoted little savage. She was the bright- 
est and handsomest Indian girl he had ever 
seen, and the most unusual, for she fished 
and hunted with the privilege and freedom 
of the Indian braves. The old chief was too 
fond of her to prohibit her rambling where 
she pleased, for she was his only child, and 
the pride of his old age. Living as she did 
in the open, Wenonah learned from all na- 
ture what was good for her. One day, when 

fi6] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

Allen presented her with a pine pillow, she 
threw it back to him, saying, "No, Teola, 
Wenonah no need lift for head. Wenonah 
want to grow tall and straight like the trees 
of the forest." 

One morning Allen awoke earlier than 
usual. Throwing aside his blanket, he 
stepped out into the open, filling his lungs 
with the clear, aromatic air, breathing in the 
refreshing odors of the pines. Wandering 
down towards the brook below, he reached 
the waterfalls just in time to see Wenonah, 
with her luxuriant black hair dripping with 
water, come skimming up over the rocks with 
the swiftness and agility of a deer. He 
thought he had never seen such a wholesome 
creature. 

"You look as fresh as the morning," he 
greeted her, as she sprang along a ledge and 
came to his side. "Where have you been?" 

"Wenonah go into water to make clean. 
Omeme say Wenonah is as clean and as pure 
as the flowers that grow." 

"Who is Omeme?" Allen asked, as he 
looked admiringly at the perfect bare limbs 
of the girl, the water still glistening on her 
smooth brown skin. 

"Omeme ride up the trail in the Moon of 
Bright Nights, Teola, one moon before you 

[17] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

come. Omeme come with her paleface brave 
when the Great Spirit come over Winbeam, 
and they know not the trail. White Owl 
say, 'Stay; eat and sleep at my lodge/ and 
they stay till Great Spirit come again over 
Winbeam, then Indian brave go with them 
to show trail." 
"And the sun, from sleep awaking, 

Started up and said, 'Behold me!'" 

"Yo-wah!" cried the girl as she sprang to 
a ledge above Allen, where she stood motion- 
less and erect, in an attitude of worship, with 
her face turned toward the rising sun, then, 
with hand uplifted, "Listen," she whispered, 
"the Spirit Bird sings," and from the stillness 
of the forest there floated the leisurely golden 
voice of the woodthrush, mellow and serene, 
with the peace of heaven in its notes. 

"Ah, Teola, the Great Spirit is pleased 
with his people. Are you not glad to live in 
our valley, where the Spirit Bird sings, and 
the waters laugh?" she cried joyously. 

"Yes, Wenonah, I am happy here," Allen 
answered, and for a long time he sat musing 
after she had left him, thinking of the sim- 
plicity of this Indian girl's religion, and her 
joy and content in all things created. 

Then he fell to wondering why he was 
kept a prisoner. Wenonah could tell him if 

[18J 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

he asked her; but he hastily put the thought 
aside as unworthy. No! He could not take 
advantage of the girl's friendship. He as- 
sured himself that these Indians were not 
bloodthirsty savages, but simple, quiet na- 
tives of the mountains, clannish and suspi- 
cious, but not cruel. When they wanted to 
release him they would do so. Meanwhile 
their reason for mistrusting him was a mys- 
tery. 

One morning when Allen awoke he found 
by his side his fishing fork, and this encour- 
aged him to ask if they had found his rifle 
also; but the old chief gravely shook his 
head and made no answer. That night 
White Owl held a consultation with the men 
of his tribe, and Allen resolved to break 
through their Indian reserve by demanding 
their reason for keeping him a prisoner. 

In a sheltered nook under the hill, by a 
pure cold spring called Tuppillowantica, the 
tribe held their councils. Here they had a 
bright fire burning, and the air was filled 
with the odor of roasting venison. Allen 
thought it a striking spectacle — the dark 
swaying branches of the trees against the 
starry sky above; below, the campfire flam- 
ing, sputtering, leaping upward, lighting the 
dusky faces of the Indians, who squatted 
around it in a circle. 

[.19] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

Allen made his way openly to the council 
fire. When he came within hearing distance 
there was silence. With a few grunts the 
braves greeted him, but no one spoke a word. 
He attempted several times to demand the 
explanation he desired, but their suspicious 
glances and dogged silence made him so un- 
easy that he finally left the council and 
walked back to his wigwam. 

"They say nothing," he thought, "but they 
convey more in a single look than a white 
man could say in many words. They do not 
trust me — " and the thought troubled him, 
for he had always been accepted as a friend 
in Indian camps. 

In his close contact with White Owl's 
family Allen had found them cleaner and 
more prosperous than any Indians he had 
known. The old chief provided well for his 
family, and insisted that his people work to 
provide for themselves. He governed his 
little tribe well, and they seemed to be always 
at peace. White Owl claimed all the forests, 
valleys and streams, south and east of Ma- 
copin, where Wickadouma, their landmarks, 
loomed huge and dark on the mountain's 
crest. The few Indians in these valleys came 
to White Owl for counsel, as to a kind 
father. 

[20] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

"I think for the good of my people," the 
old chief said to Allen one day. "My people 
have plenty to eat because I teach them 
how to provide, and when they go to trade 
with paleface I go with them, so that no 
brave of my tribe gets firewater to take his 
senses away/' And the young Englishman 
thought, "Many good lessons might my own 
people learn from these forest folk." 

Sometimes Allen grew tired of the Indian 
cookery — their succotash, half-cooked meat, 
queer roots and herbs; but they always had 
plenty of berries and brook trout, and quan- 
tities of maple sugar which they made from 
the sap of the sugar-maples that grew near 
the big lodge. They shared with Allen the 
best they had, and he grew strong on the 
simple diet. 

Since Allen had dropped unexpectedly into 
this Indian camp in the month of May, the 
months had slipped quickly by. Moons, the 
Indians called them. Moon of Strawberries, 
the Thunder Moon, and Green Corn Moon 
all had passed by. Now the Moon of Fall- 
ing Leaves was here, and still he waited for 
release. One day White Owl disappeared 
from the camp and no word was spoken at 
the lodge about his departure. As the days 
went by Allen noticed that not a warrior 

[21] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

passed along the trail; but Kohannah, the 
swiftest runner of all the braves, now stayed 
at the big lodge. 

"As a guard over me," Allen thought. 
The young Englishman made no attempt to 
escape. He was sure Wenonah would be- 
friend him if danger arose, for they were 
great comrades. She climbed the mountains 
with him till he was exhausted. Her slender 
body never grew tired. Her dark, quick 
eyes scanned every object that grew or 
moved. She knew where the flowers of the 
forest hid in the leaves and mosses, where 
the tenderest shoots of wintergreen grew, and 
the healing herbs each in its season. She 
could wriggle through crevices in the rocks 
where he dared not follow. 

One day when Allen became helplessly 
entangled in a network of twisted grapevines, 
she gurgled with glee as he struggled. 
"Kowe," she cried triumphantly as she 
sprang into a loop of the vine above him, 
swinging to and fro like a bird, and laugh- 
ing down at him. She was like a playful 
animal, always ready for a frolic. But for 
all her wildness, she was as industrious as a 
beaver. One morning Allen found her 
pounding maize into meal in a hollowed 
stone near the lodge. 

[22[ 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

"Let me do that, Wenonah," he said, at- 
tempting to take the stone mallet away from 
her. 

"No, Teola!" she cried. "You chase deer. 
This Wenonah's work." 

On their long rambles in the woods and 
over the mountains, Wenonah gathered every 
edible berry and root, and when the nuts 
ripened in the autumn she stored them away 
for the winter. 

One morning she and Allen started out 
with rude baskets to gather chestnuts. Half 
a moon had gone by since heavy frosts and 
autumn gales sent ripe nuts rattling to the 
ground, with a chill in the air foretelling 
the approach of winter. Then, all the color 
in God's world mingled on the mountain- 
side and in the valley — golden yellow 
blended with emerald green; burning scarlet 
flamed against smoldering crimson! Now 
the days grew warm again. Nuts lay sweet 
and dry and brown under crispy dead leaves. 
The world was wrapped in sleepy warmth. 
The air was hazy, and the sun shone dimly 
through a golden atmosphere. It was the 
Indian Summer, the season the red man 
loved, a special gift of his favorite God, the 
God of the Southwest, who sent soft winds 
and golden warmth. 

[23] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

This was a day to be remembered. A 
Dream Day! Half unconsciously Allen 
watched Wenonah, as she moved lightly 
among the trees; at her cheeks glowing with 
rich, dusky red; at her supple form as she 
stooped to brush the leaves aside and 
scooped up nuts by the handful. They filled 
their baskets, and were starting back to the 
lodge, when suddenly the girl stopped short. 
"Look Teola," she said, pointing down the 
trail, and Allen, looking, saw a long line of 
tall, straight figures advancing toward them. 

Three weeks had passed since White Owl 
had disappeared from camp; three weeks 
since an Indian had gone along the trail. 
Now as the figures advanced in single file, 
Allen recognized White Owl and his braves. 
There was something noble and impressive 
about these Indians, the young man thought, 
as he watched them come nearer, and with 
a friendly salute he greeted them from the 
hilltop. He felt no fear at their approach. 
He was truly glad to see the old Chief, and 
down through the hazel brush he made his 
way to meet him. 

"Welcome home!" he said, as he laid his 
hand on White Owl's shoulder, and to his 
surprise there was an answering look of 
friendliness in the old Chief's eyes, a look 
such as he had never seen there before. 

[24] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

"Prisoner no more!" said White Owl 
abruptly. "You no spy. We let you go 
free. Paleface treat Indian fair; Indian 
treat Paleface fair. At Great Council we 
meet Red Fox. He say you good friend to 
Indian." 

For a moment Allen was silent, while the 
truth slowly dawned upon him. He remem- 
bered that there had been many disputes as 
to land seized by the settlers from the In- 
dians. Now there came to his mind a vision 
of that May night when he had leaned over 
the bank to gaze down upon White Owl's 
tribe gathered in council. As in a dream, 
he remembered the voice of the old Chief 
saying: "We go to the Great Council-fire to 
make peace with paleface. We sell our land. 
If paleface steal our land, on warpath we 
go." Then Allen had fallen into their midst. 
It was all plain to him now! These Indians, 
always suspicious, had taken him for a spy 
when he had fallen by their council-fire, 
thinking that he had been listening to their 
plans, as a scout for the settlers, and so they 
had kept him a prisoner, lest he tell their 
plans to the English! 

"My good old Chief!" he cried, grasping 
the Indian's hand, "so you thought me a 
spy! You thought I would help steal your 

[25] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

land. Not I, good Chief! My heart is all 
for you and your people." Then he added, 
"You have been to the Council. Tell me 
about it." 

"Ugh, Great Council," said White Owl 
solemnly. "We, the Minsies, meet with the 
Mingos at Lenapewihittuck, river of the 
Lenni-Lenape; where the waters thunder and 
the Council-fires burn. Chief of the pale- 
face say, 'Let there be peace! We will buy 
your land, and the Indians who have cap- 
tured our people must let them go free!' 
Then Tedyeskung, Chief of the Lenape, say 
to his people, 'Let your paleface captives go. 
This day we are paid for our land. We will 
depart!' And Great Chief buries hatchet 
deep in the ground." 

Now White Owl turned to his daughter 
and addressed her in her native tongue, and 
as he spoke he threw a wampum necklace 
over her head. As Allen listened to the old 
Chiefs words, their meaning seemed to burn 
his brain. The girl had been standing close 
to the white man. Now as her father pre- 
sented her with the necklace "for good duty," 
she spoke: 

"Wenonah no want necklace. Wenonah 
want Teola," and she laid her face caress- 
ingly against Allen's arm. For a moment 

[26] 



AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

anger held Allen silent, while a dull red 
surged over his face. Then, with a gesture 
of contempt, he pushed the girl from him. 
This savage! He had called her a Child of 
Nature; a fawn, a mountain nymph — every- 
thing that was wild and sweet and beautiful, 
and now, when he spoke, his voice was 
harsh. 

"And you would have killed me, you little 
savage! You were set to watch me. If I 
had tried to escape, you would have killed 
me! You! who nursed me back to health, 
and romped in the mountains with me." 

Humbly the girl looked up at him, looked 
unfalteringly into his burning eyes, then, 
slipping to the ground in front of him, she 
clasped both arms about his knees, looking 
up at him as a whipped dog looks at its 
angry master. 

"Yes, Teola, Wenonah has death-arrow 
here," and she drew forth a long sharp flint 
arrow-head. "With this, Wenonah would 
have killed Teola if he go. And this," she 
slipped another arrow from her pouch — 
"with this, Wenonah would have killed her- 
self to go to Happy Spirit Land to be Teola's 
squaw." 

Allen's tense muscles relaxed, and as he 
looked down at the girl the red anger slowly 

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AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

died out of his face. "Yes," he thought, 
"she was all that he had called her, every- 
thing that was wild, untamed, and beautiful, 
with the mind and instincts of a savage. She 
had only done her duty in watching him — 
and she would have sacrificed her own life 
with his." 

His thoughts traveled quickly. He looked 
at the faces around him, now lighted with a 
new friendliness and good will. These peo- 
ple had treated him well; they had shared 
their best with him; a stranger and a 
prisoner. Would his people have treated a 
captive so well ? They were willing to spare 
his life if they gained their end; they had 
gained it — the government had paid them 
for their land, and they were satisfied. Now 
they stood around him, friendly, like peace- 
ful children. 

His eyes traveled over the little valley, 
all wrapped in the soft golden haze of In- 
dian Summer. He had learned to love it — 
this valley nestling in the mountains; its 
wildness and beauty were akin to his own 
rugged, unsoiled nature. And this Indian 
girl kneeling at his feet — he loved more than 
anything else in his life. 

"Come, Wenonah," he said gently, raising 
her to her feet, "Teola will buy this valley, 
and you shall live here forever, and be 
Teola's squaw!" 

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AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 



GLOSSARY. 

Hoboken, at the place of reeds and rushes. 

Killikinick, mixture of barks and leaves. 

Kohannah, swift. 

Kowe, Indian cry of triumph. 

Lake Hopatcong, at the waterfall. 

Lenapewihittuck, river of the Lenape. 

Lenni-Lenape, native; the original or pure 
Indian. 

Macopin, wild potato. 

Mingos, one of the northern tribes of Lenape. 

Minsi or Wolf Tribe, people of a stony 
country. 

Moon of Bright Nights, April. 

Moon of Green Leaves, May. 

Moon of Strawberries, June. 

Thunder Moon, July. 

Green Corn Moon, August. 

Moon of Falling Leaves, October. 

Passaic, in the valley. 

Pequannock, land made clear for cultiva- 
tion. 

Pompton, wry-mouth. 

Preakness, a young buck. 

Tedyeskung, The Healer. 

Teola, wounded in the lodge. 

Totowa, to sink, dive under, but rise again. 

Tuppillowantica, pure cold spring. 

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AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 

Wanaque, from Wanki; peace, repose. 
Wenonah, eldest daughter. 
Wickadouma, Black Rock. 
Winbeam, from Wimb, the heart of a tree. 
Yapewi, on the river bank. 
Yowah, exclamation of delight and content 
for the Creator and Created. 



[30] 



